


Angel Scent

by fine_feathered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fine_feathered/pseuds/fine_feathered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a perfumer who wants to capture the scent of an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel AU PWP (well with a sprinkling of plot…)  
> (Inspired by the novel Perfume)  
> I had a lot of fun writing this, so leave a comment or something if you'd be interested in me making this into a full story.

Skin smells like oil.  
Hair smells like grease.  
The general combination of haired skin on humanity smells of a musky, old cheese.

The moist areas, the groin, armpits, the space between the rolls of fat and skin, smell acrid, like vinegar or urine.

Angels are unique. Their smell is potent, aromatic, wonderful to behold. It enraptures with only the smallest whiff of their flesh. Most importantly they do not smell human. Or so, that was what the stories told.

And to a perfumer that is the most pure thing, to not smell human. For every fragrance, every flacon, is produced in the pursuit to disguise the pungent smell of sweat and the reek of age and decay that grows worse with every passing day. Many mistake the scent of decay for urine, but Dean, he can smell much better than that, decay has its own smell.

But angels are rare. So unfortunately rare. Rarer even than ambergris, which is made in the stomachs of only a small portion of sperm whales. However it is Dean’s desire to distill, to steal the fragrance of an angel, even when their very existence is a myth. They walk the Earth like ghosts, gone like the first beautiful scent that a flower releases when it unfurls its petals.

 

Dean sat at the table of his manor. The dim light of the moon shone against the glass bottles that surrounded him, they were filled with floral essences; frangipani, violet, lavender – from the mundane to the exquisite.

The countryside was painted silver, the drizzle too was visible as it slicked the window panes. Dean had retreated here, some years ago to escape the noxious fumes that humanity irradiated. He did not lack for supplies or money, as the greatest perfumer that the world had ever known, he would never want for anything most people would desire. His bed was fitted with the finest silk sheets and furs, he had gold and silver by the ton, he had every scent and resin under his roof. Yet he was greedy, he wanted more, every sensory experience he craved, especially the olfactory ones.

He had listened to every piece of music that had pleased him, Led Zeppelin, Bon Jovi, had tasted the finest foods from across the worlds, from warming diner food to the food crafted by Michelin chefs. Had thrust inside many a body, male, female all in pursuit of hedonism. 

And yet, the scent of an angel still eluded him.

 

So, it must have been nothing short of fate that brought the three feeble knocks at his door that night. Dean raised his head from the table from where he had fallen asleep and pushed himself to his feet. He flicked on the light to the room that made the lamps on the walls burst into soft light.

He trekked across the thick carpets and made it to the front door. He paused to listen for more, not trusting his ears. There was another knock. Dean stepped forward and finally opened his front door. 

There, on the stones of his front door step, was an angel. Blood ran freely from his nose, the rain had soaked into his feathers and made his wings weigh down on his back. His white linen shirt clung to him, was practically see through so waterlogged was it.

Dean bent down, nostrils flared as he put his hand to the angel’s shoulder. The metallic, fresh scent of the rain cloaked the subtle fragrance that the angel gave off. 

The angel set his wide blue eyes upon him and Dean felt himself quiver with every breath he took within the angel’s presence. The angel’s skin was ashen and his breath trembled, “Please help me.” 

Dean swallowed heavily, “Of course.”

He helped the angel to his feet, he was heavier than he looked and he leaned against Dean as he took him into the lounge. There was a long, chaise lounge that he deposited the bleeding angel on.

His sapphire eyes were glazed with pain; tiny shiver wracked the angel’s body. Although it pained Dean to move from the object of his every dream he let his hands slide from the angel’s flesh. “I’ll get a fire started.”

Dean crossed the short distance to the fireplace where logs were stacked neatly in a basket besides it. He stacked some of them into the recess and reached into his pocket for his lighter, which caught some of the kindling present. In moments, embers and small flames began to lick the wood. With this done Dean moved back to the angel, his heart galloped in his chest with his excitement. 

The only light that served his way was the muted flickers of the fire behind him as the wood began to click and squeak. “Here, we should take off your clothes. They’re wet, I’ll get you something dry.” 

Yet Dean did not move to find the dry clothes, he was too impatient, too anxious to rid this celestial being of any barrier between him and his scent. 

The angel did not complain, in fact he helped Dean pull off his simple shirt and rid him of his shoes and socks until only his black trousers remained. Dean licked his lips as he knelt before the angel, who was a picture of sublimity as he reclined against the lounge. The angel smiled down at him, a smile that told Dean that he knew the effect his scent had on humans.  With a gentle touch he put his palm to Dean’s cheek and rubbed his thumb over the line of cheekbone, “My name is Castiel.”

Dean leaned into the touch, grabbed at Castiel’s hand and moved it over his lips and under his nostrils to revel in the scent. He smelled of fresh milk, so smooth, creamy and rich. He smelled too of cool silk. “Hello Castiel,” He replied back and as soon as he did he let his tongue taste the angel’s fingers.

Dean felt the Castiel twitch, the wet warmth obviously unexpected. With his other hand Castiel latched onto Dean’s shoulder and pulled him onto him, “What is your name?”

Dean followed the pull of the angel, till he was seated next to him. His mind was empty of coherent thought but he managed to eke out, “Dean…Dean Winchester.” 

The angel seemed to find that acceptable with the nod he gave Dean. “Hello Dean.” He answered, mirroring Dean’s own response. Castiel leaned in close to Dean; he pressed his naked flesh against the perfumer’s black shirt. Dean groaned low and deep in his throat he dipped his head to lick a line on the hollow of Castiel’s throat. Here, at the base of his breath, he tasted like crisp mountain air. “Oh god.” Without knowing it he crawled on top of Castiel, his slightly larger frame concealed the angel’s lithe form under him.

At that Castiel laughed and Dean felt the vibration against his tongue. The angel was pliant under Dean’s hand as he pushed him back against the curve of the chaise lounge. He wanted to devour this creature, taste every single part of him. From the base of his black feathered wings to his groin. Dean’s mouth salivated at the thought, he ran the tip of his nose along Castiel’s neck to the hard just of his jaw, tasted his chin which carried the scent of a clean pebble deposited on the side of a quick running river. His tongue flicked out at the dried blood from the groove under the angel’s nose and he moaned piteously at the taste, it was like a fruity warm red wine. Dean felt the hardness in his trousers, the heat that burbled under his skin as he licked across the seam of Castiel’s lips. They tasted as pink as they looked, like a berry ice cream. Castiel’s lips parted for him, the angel canted his hips up and rubbed them against Dean’s own clothed crotch. Dean’s tongue ran over the roof of Castiel’s mouth, along his tongue and smooth teeth. The angel’s saliva was ambrosia, a taste that was not analogous to anything else Dean could conceive in his wildest of dreams – this was the taste, the scent he had craved his whole life. And now that he had it, he could never relinquish it.

His tongue ran over Castiel’s the angel was submissive under him and that only added to the thrill of tasting the being. Reluctantly, Dean parted to suck in breath; the angel’s eyes were dilated with lust. Dean shot the angel a smirk, “I’m pretty a great kisser huh?”

Castiel huffed out a breath but in contrast to his next words he rubbed his groin in a long hard line over Dean’s thigh. Next Dean’s hand wandered over the exposed blades of Castiel’s shoulder, felt the fine velvet of his raised hairs as the tips of Dean’s fingers brushed against his feathers. He leaned up Castiel’s body, which made his knees sink further into the cushions of the sofa. He rested his face in the strong arch of Castiel’s wings. Each feather, to his surprise, had a unique scent to them. Under his nose now was a feather that smelt of roses, it’s neighbor smelt of lilacs and next to that, this made him laugh, like freshly polished leather. Dean’s fingers ran over and under the feathers, disheveled them and wiped away the beads of persistent rain. This, more than anything else yet made Castiel whimper, “Please,” Castiel murmured as he twisted under him until he was lying on his side. Dean leaned back as he saw the large wing unfold over the couch, a painted fan to show the whole picture.

Now, the scents could mingle and waft from the appendage unfettered and Dean unconsciously thrust his hips against Castiel, felt his eyes flutter closed.

Dean nibbled along the bones; his tongue tasted the feathers, ran along dozens of them and the tastes and smells melded together into a wonderful, eclectic mix. His breaths came sharp and shallow. Castiel mewled under him and the angel reached up to drag Dean down against his wings. Dean’s knee slipped off the chaise lounge and he let himself come off the couch and lay on his back on the floor. Castiel pursued him, straddled him, and arched his wings out and let them droop over Dean until he was wrapped in the angel’s scent.

Dean had no more energy, he was drunk, delirious, but the angel was not done with him. He laced his fingers with Dean’s, his knees were on the outsides of Dean’s thighs and he rubbed his clothed erection against Dean’s jeans. With each gyration of his hip Castiel gasped and arched his back and all Dean could do was stare and let out wrecked moans and whimpers as the angel rode him.

Castiel’s fingers tightened, he held Dean fast as he increased the tempo of his rut. Castiel felt moisture build in his underwear, wet the tip of his cock and when he dragged in a deep breath he could smell that Dean was the same, the human let off that wonderful, earthly musk.

Castiel leaned down but kept up with the motion, he kissed Dean and the human replied with all the energy he could master. Their tongues twined together, their teeth clicked and Castiel despite not needing to breathe took his lips away and panted in Dean’s ear. He smelled the perfumer, the myriad of scents that he wore, the unique human smell that clung to him, of engine grease, and cinnamon soap and salty sweat. Castiel craved them, licked away the bead of sweat that ran along Dean’s brow and with a muffled curse of Enochian let the knot in his gut unfurl. He came, hard, and squeezed his eyes closed, huffed through his orgasm and rubbed himself on Dean even harder.

Dean’s head lolled backwards, the base of his skull dug into the rug as he muttered nonsense and reached up into the canopy of feathers that hovered above him. He felt the hard line of Castiel’s cock against his own and with a bellow of breath, he came too, shuddered and shot come into his pants, felt the warm spread of it across his skin.

Castiel collapsed on top of him and then rolled to the side. Dean managed to push himself onto his side also in order to stare into the face of the angel. With every new breath he inhaled, he smelt something new, each was more tantalizing than the last.

“You know I can’t let you go now right?

Castiel closed his eyes and laid his hand on Dean’s hip, “I wouldn’t want to.”


End file.
